


Hammer to Fall

by Ginnybag



Series: Five Beats [3]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate History, Jewish!Treize, Multi, frozen teardrop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:26:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2286684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginnybag/pseuds/Ginnybag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My name,” Duo said levelly, as though the information wouldn’t shock the world, “is Dror Aaron Khushrenada. I am the son of General Eban Jacabe Khushrenada and Lady Anna Maxwell.” He paused. “I am also the half-brother of Colonel Treize Tobias Khushrenada, former Oz commander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hammer to Fall is the backstory to the universe the other stories in this series sit in. It's plottier, a character and universe exploration, rather than the focus of the others.
> 
> Some elements are drawn from Frozen Teardrop, with suitable twists in places; others were the slightly bonkers dreaming of my beta-reader, Callisto, and I a lot of years ago.
> 
> Mostly, I just couldn't resist Israeli!Treize.

The courtroom was hushed, swept silent in anticipation. Dimly lit and kept cool, the bulk of the room was spectator seating, filled with news reporters and the general curious from the Earth Sphere’s rich and influential.

 

The front of the court room, separated from the rest by solid wooden barriers and better lighting, held the groups with the most direct stake in the case being tried. ESUN officials made up one group, politicians current and former another. The shadowy khaki and black uniform of the Preventers marked out a third contingent, and it was this party that drew most of the media focus.

 

But that group's focus was, to a one, solidly on the figure in the witness box.

 

Dressed in a high-collared, dark blue tunic and white trousers, his crisp cravat folded neatly against his throat, ginger-brown hair neatly combed and pulled back, he was the biggest surprise of the investigatory hearings into the newly-dubbed Eve Wars so far.

 

By birth, he fit with the spectators; by training with the politicians. If history had been different, he might well have been with the ESUN officials, and most had expected him to be a part of the Preventers in this new era.

 

It remained to be seen if any group would acknowledge him as one of their own when he was done with his testimony.

 

The head of the Investigatory Panel drew himself to his feet and approached the box.

 

“Could you state your name for the record, please?” he asked politely.

 

The man in the box smiled humourlessly. “Duo Maxwell,” he replied easily. “But I suspect you want my birth name, don’t you?” he asked in return.

 

The examiner nodded his confirmation, breath's caught and held across the room and three figures in Preventer uniform tensed visibly.

 

“My name,” Duo said levelly, as though the information wouldn’t shock the world, “is Dror Aaron Khushrenada. I am the son of General Eban Jacabe Khushrenada and Lady Anna Maxwell.” He paused. “I am also the half-brother of Colonel Treize Tobias Khushrenada, former Oz commander.

 

The uproar startled even him.

 

***********

 

“How could you!?”

 

The accusation, heated and bitter, came from Wufei as soon as Duo was excused from the stand, and by virtue of accosting Duo in the men’s restroom as he stepped from a stall.

 

Duo swept his eyes over the oriental pilot, then stepped past him towards the sinks, reaching for the tap to wash his hands. “How could I what, Wufei?” he asked calmly.

 

“All of it!” Chang snarled. “How could you lie to us, spy on us, betray us! We trusted you!”

 

“You were one of us, Duo,” Quatre added softly, from where he was standing by the mirror on the far wall. He was watching the other two men in reflection, not turning to face them directly. His blue eyes were liquid with sadness, a look Duo himself had once described as his ‘kicked puppy’ look.

 

“Am I not still?” Duo asked, drying his hands on a provided towel. “I don’t see how any of this changes what I did. The only difference is my name.”

 

“And your entire allegiance!” Chang hissed. “We thought you were working for us, not for the enemy!”

 

“Oz was your enemy, Wufei, not mine,” Duo answered. “The Alliance was mine, right from the start, and then White Fang.”

 

Wufei bristled. “No, I don’t suppose Oz would have been yours. I suspect you’d have been quite thrilled to have your _brother_ in charge!”

 

Duo lifted one steady eyebrow, a deliberate mimicry. “Yes, I suspect I would,” he said quietly.

 

The door slammed as Wufei stormed out of the room, leaving Quatre and Duo alone.

 

“Well, Quat?” Duo asked softly. “Aren’t you going to follow him?”

 

The blond pilot turned from the mirror slowly. “No, not yet. Duo…” He paused. “May I still call you that?” he asked.

 

Duo smiled. “Well, yeah. I’m Duo in either guise, unless you speak Hebrew. You’ll never pronounce the difference!”

 

Quatre bowed his head politely. “Thank you. Duo, you understand why we’re all so shocked?”

 

Duo nodded. “Of course. I wasn’t expecting you to take it without fireworks, any of you.”

 

Quatre nodded in return. “Well, then, if you could explain?” he asked. “None of us were expecting what you said in there. We none of us – not even me – ever thought…. Your brother?” he asked helplessly, making the repetition sum up all the questions he was wanting to ask in one go.

 

The frustrated, curious, demanding tone made Duo chuckle softly. “Yes,” he said easily. “Half-brother, technically. Different mother. Not that we ever really noticed that.” He looked steadily at his fellow pilot, watching as the expression made the blond pale slowly as Quatre identified where he’d seen it before. “Get the others,” he said after a moment. “Milliardo said he’d host anyone who needed answers this evening, and this is too long to tell over and over.”

 

“I imagine so,” Quatre agreed, then nodded. “All right. Shall I meet you there?” he asked, and when Duo nodded yes, he turned on his heel and left the room.

 

Duo watched him go, then stared into the mirror silently. For all that he had been in the witness box all day for the Courts, this, then, was the only trial that mattered to him. This was where their reasoning, their intentions, their hopes and dreams, their _lives_ would be judged by the only people worthy of doing so.

 

Duo could only hope that, after everything, they would not be found lacking at this last.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Milliardo was in the study when Duo reached the house, his blond head bent as he spoke to the third occupant of the property in soft tones.

 

Many people had wondered why Prince Milliardo had refused to live in the Palace after the wars were over, and had instead bought and refurbished this modest estate in the foothills to the west of the capital with private funds, the house and outbuildings lost in the lush green forest that covered so much of Sanc. He had insisted that he needed the peace, the privacy, and that since he never intended to take the Throne, there was no need for him to live like the Royal he was, nor draw on the public purse for his upkeep.

 

There was truth to his insistence – Milliardo did, historically, do better being away from large urban areas, free to disappear into the wilderness and walk off whatever was troubling him at that particular moment – but there had been more to it. For one thing, he had wanted somewhere where Duo could come and stay and move around with freedom, protected from telephoto lenses and gossip columnists, unwilling to be parted from his surrogate younger brother now that there was no need.

 

And for another, he had needed somewhere for the third of their triptych to rest once the most life-threatening of his injuries had stabilised; needed somewhere where the slow flow of days, the soft sounds of the forests and springs would be a constant balm to a battered body and broken soul.

 

Treize Khushrenada had not come from the end of the War without paying a heavy price for his dreams. Milliardo had bought the house, in the end, to create a refuge for what was left of him, in the hopes that he would one day recover enough to rejoin the world he had bought with his blood.

 

There had been some success, Duo knew. His eldest brother was a little better each day, a little stronger, a little less in pain and a little less utterly exhausted, though knowledge of where he had started was needed for the improvement to show.

 

In the first few weeks, he had never left his bed, sleeping the twenty hours a day he wasn’t screaming in agony. In the weeks and months after that, he had been a silent ghost haunting his rooms on the first floor, speaking to no-one at all, not even Milliardo, and moving through the motions of his days with only grim determination.

 

Then, as the first warmth of summer touched the land around him, something had returned to his distant, vacant gaze, some vital spark reigniting deep inside him. He had begun making eye contact again, fleetingly and then with more certainty, first with Milliardo, then with Duo, then with Dorothy on her frequent visits, and then, finally, as the beautiful summer passed into a glorious flaming fall, he had begun speaking again.

 

For Milliardo’s 21st Birthday in late November, he had even managed to conspire with his brother and cousin to be sitting downstairs when the blond man came home from his duty visit to his sister, positioned elegantly in a supportive wing chair in the little snug. His soft, struggling ‘Happy birthday, Miri,’ had dropped the Prince to his knees in front of the other man, his face against the older man’s lap as he wept in relief and long-repressed grief. Duo had stayed long enough to see his brother bend his head to the blond, his hand winding into Milliardo’s silver-gilt mane in the first touch he had initiated in a year and his voice breaking as he soothed, fighting to speak freely and in more than the one and two word phrases that had been all he had managed till then.

 

They’d thought he’d turned the corner then, had made the choice to live; certainly he’d seemed to improve in leaps and bounds as the house began preparing for a winter season as grand as any they’d known in childhood. As Milliardo and Dorothy brought in green boughs and twinkling lights for their Christmas, Treize had the family Menorah shipped from his abandoned home in Tel Aviv and began lighting it for each night of Hannukah in his role as Head of Household. Duo, as he so often had in his younger years, bounced back and forward between the two older men and their traditions, singing the solemn Hebrew prayers for his brother that Treize’s baritone couldn’t sustain anymore and then, later the same evening, throwing his light tenor behind Dorothy’s soprano and Zechs’s bass as they wended their way through various Christmas carols.

 

By the time that Duo left to prepare the pilot’s Gundams for their trip into the Sun, Treize had even managed to smile at a few things.

 

Zechs, after, had told him of what had happened next, of the effect that Dekim Barton’s aborted Coup had had on the former general. White faced, eyes glassy with shock, Treize had sent Milliardo in the Tallgeese 3 he and Duo had built from the components of the wrecked Tallgeese 2 and Epyon suits to defend his sister, then sent Dorothy after him when the newsfeeds started to show him that the blond was losing his fight. Duo, by then, had been aboard Dekim’s colony, knowing without needing to be told that Treize would want him with the little girl who, astonishingly, might just be another member of their little family. He’d failed in that, but it hadn’t mattered in the end, Une accomplishing it for him.

 

What had mattered was that, for a few hours, Treize had been completely alone, watching footage that increasingly told him that he might have sent all three of the people who cared for him to their deaths and then cut to radio silence, leaving him without an answer either way.

 

It hadn’t done him any favours. According to Dorothy, who had been first back to the forest house, she’d found Treize with his cleaned and loaded service pistol in his hand. His intention had been clear.

 

Worse had been the fallout. His presence thoroughly announced now, Zechs had been hauled in for questioning about his part in the Wars and had ended facing an ESUN tribunal for his actions. Lady Une’s impassioned defence of him, Relena’s political clout backing him, and his actions in the Mariemeia uprising had seen him walk clear but, in order to defend himself against accusations of attempted genocide during his time as the White Fang commander, he’d been forced to talk about Treize, revealing both that the former general was still alive and that he, with Milliardo and various other family members, had planned, seeded and staged a good part of the events of the war to control it and shape the future it built.

 

Milliardo’s fatal slip had been ‘various family members’. Heading the investigatory committee, Noin had been inclined to lenience towards Milliardo and Treize both, but she’d also known the Oz commander fairly well, and had immediately asked what ‘family’ the blond meant. There was only Dorothy Catalonia who merited the title.

 

Wasn’t there?

 

Tipped off, knowing something of what she was looking for, Noin had quietly commandeered Heero’s hacking prowess and used her lingering access to the surviving Oz servers to go hunting. It had still taken them almost four months to punch through the firewalls, blinds and encryptions Treize had programmed 7 years earlier, and throw open the files he had buried on his somewhat-younger half-brother, a boy who had apparently been killed with his parents in AC 192.

 

A boy with wide violet eyes, thick chestnut hair past his shoulders and the maternal family name ‘Maxwell’.

 

Duo had been arrested immediately, bailed the same afternoon and in front of the court 48 hours later.

 

Guilty of nothing he hadn’t been acquitted of as a pilot already, and nothing on the order that Milliardo had been accused of in any case, Duo had never been in any doubt that he was walking free from the court at the end of the day, but the jury rendering the verdict hadn’t been the one he was worried about.

 

Heero, of course, had already known, but Trowa, Quatre and Wufei had walked into the courtroom completely blind to what Duo was going to say, knowing only that something new had come to light about his part in the war.

 

The reaction of two of them in the men’s room had been what he had expected; Trowa simply looking at him in silence and walking away had not.

 

Now, an hour later, a grim-faced Duo let himself into the house that had become home and tossed his car-keys on the side table by the door, looking for his housemates immediately.

 

A moment later, Treize’s soft, hesitant tones made him look at his watch as a spark flared in the study.

 

“ _Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu Melekh ha-olam,”_ the former general sang quietly. _“Asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel Shabbat kobesh.”_

 

Yes, it was a Friday, Duo reminded himself and his glance at his watch told him it was around 20 to 7. It was dark in Sanc at around 7 at this time of year.

 

He waited a few minutes for his brother to finish his Shabbat greeting, then stepped into the study to let him, and Milliardo, know he was home.

 

Both men smiled as he walked in, Milliardo getting to his feet and Treize looking up from the prayer book on his lap.

 

“Evening, Mil,” Duo greeted Milliardo, exchanging soft kisses to both cheeks in the blonde’s french-extraction tradition. “Gut shabbes,” he said to Treize in turn.

 

Treize tipped his head to him. “Shalom Shalom,” he replied steadily.

 

Duo smiled at him again then let himself sober. “I hate to interrupt,” he said, “but we have incoming company.”

 

Treize let his curiosity show with a raised eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Milliardo scowled at him.

 

“Now?” he asked. “It’s seven in the evening and we were about to sit down to dinner. Can’t they wait till morning?”

 

Duo frowned, puzzled. “You offered,” he countered, “or I wouldn’t have invited them at all. But hey, I’m sure they won’t jump to any of the wrong conclusions if I call them off at the last minute.” He gave it a moment, then shook his head. “My day was fine, by the way, thank you for asking,” he added sharply, “and no, of course my friends aren’t livid with me.” He drew a breath. “Oh, wait….”

 

Treize gave him a sympathetic look and extended his hand. “Duo,” he started and Milliardo spoke over him.

 

“You’re here,” the blond pointed out, “and they’re coming. How bad can it have been?”

 

“Seriously?” Duo demanded at the same time Treize murmured, “Miri!”

 

“You’re an arse this evening, Mil,” the younger man continued a beat later. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing suddenly. “What gives?”

 

“Nothing,” the blond snapped back. “Would a phone call have killed you?” he asked shortly. “I know I said to invite them but I would have liked to know you had, so I could at least feed them!”

 

Duo shrugged. “So, I’ll bell Heero and get him to stop for Pizza. Crisis averted,” he quipped dryly.

 

Milliardo looked like he’d swallowed a wasp and either that or some thought unique to his own head made Treize chuckle softly. “Thai,” he insisted firmly, as he often did when the topic of ordering out was raised. For a man who’d been raised in Tel Aviv on a strict Kosher diet, he had a wicked love of spicy and exotic food, seeking to challenge his palate whenever possible in his younger years.

 

It was so rare a thing now, a positive trait of the commander’s that still held true, that Duo and Milliardo nigh-on always yielded to whatever Treize was suggesting. Duo actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d had Pizza.

 

“Sure,” Duo agreed, smiling and nodding. “Why the hell not? Mil, any preferences? There’ll be a few of us, so they can pick up from more than one place. Heero and Trowa won’t eat Thai in any case,” he added as he headed for the door.

 

He was looking to soothe; however fond Treize was of spicy food, Zechs hated it. He was surprised, though, when the blond tossed an apologetic look at Treize and followed Duo from the room. “I’ll come and look at the menus,” he explained. “Back in a minute,” he said to Treize.

 

That, Duo thought, seriously went without saying. Now, as before, as it had ever been in Duo’s memory, if his two brothers were in the same building, awake and not otherwise forcibly prevented, they were in the same room, whether fencing, studying, arguing, talking or merely sitting in shared silence as they read.

 

He shook his head at the thought, unwinding his cravat from round his throat as he moved, glad to be free of the stuffy outfit. However much he’d grown up with formal dress, five years of a more relaxed wardrobe had taught him a few things about personal comfort that a Romefeller childhood never had.

 

He stuffed the cravat into his trouser pocket in a habit that made Treize freak like crazy and reached into the drawer of the hallway table to dig through the various takeaway flyers.

 

“Oh, order what the hell ever,” Milliardo said behind him. “I don’t care.”

 

Duo shrugged. “Yeah, but you should. You’re eating it, Mil.”

 

Milliardo shook his head. “The Thai’s fine, Duo. Listen,” he started, his tone urgent, “can you really not delay this thing with the other pilots? He’s not up to it,” he explained, not needing to explain who ‘he’ was.

 

Duo gave him look straight from his genes, steady gaze and a single raised eyebrow. “Are any of us?” he asked easily. “I know he’s not inquisition-fit, Mil. I’ll warn them off him as much as I can but the only four people in the Sphere that you and I are bothered by are currently hopping mad at me for lying to them for the last two years, and he’s a good chunk of my reasons they shouldn’t gut me for my trouble. He’s involved in the explanations, Mil, and if I wait till he’s up to it, I could be waiting a very long time. He’ll cope tonight as well as tomorrow, so it might as well get done.”

 

Milliardo scowled at him, blue eyes stormy. “Yes,” he agreed, “except, not. He's not had a great day. He's been worrying himself sick over you and he's tired now. I really would rather just feed him and get him in bed.”

 

Duo snorted. “Yeah, but he doesn't have 'great days', Mil,” he pointed out bluntly. “He has bad ones and bloody awful ones. If he's fannying with religious twaddle and asking for Thai, he's doing okay by his standards. You're cosseting again,” he pointed out, referencing Milliardo's ever present tendency to treat their older brother as though fragile. “Stop being so toppish; you're not even screwing him any more.”

 

“Fuck off, Duo,” Milliardo replied shortly, his voice hot. “Don't be so bloody crude!”

 

Duo shrugged unrepentantly. “It's true. And I won't treat him as though he can't chose for himself. If he couldn't cope, he’d have said so.”

 

For a moment the two of them stared at each other, their opinions conflicting, true blood brother who'd been absent for years against ex-lover and cousin who hadn't.

 

Then Milliardo shook his head wearily. “I'm not trying to be an arse, Duo,” he said quietly. “I know today's been tough for you, too, and I want to help. It's just.... I'm worried he's caught something. He's running hot, and he's thrown up twice today.”

 

Duo gave him wide, understanding eyes. “He's puking? When?” he asked, and there was genuine concern in his voice.

 

“Once this morning, once just after lunch. He's been fine since, and he's eaten, but....” Milliardo flushed suddenly, his nordic colouring hiding nothing. “We had a slight, ah, technical hitch with some stuff this morning as well,” he managed, obviously reluctant.

 

The younger man, still giving him worried eyes, suddenly laughed dryly. “Ah, that's why you're grumpy!” he laughed. “You've spent all day mopping up different puddles!”

 

The colour in Milliardo's face went from embarrassed to angry in a heartbeat. “Fuck _off_ , Duo!” he snapped. “I should tan your backside, I swear!” he threatened.

 

“Well, as much as you'd get off on that,” Duo needled, clearly not remotely intimidated, “I'm not Treize. Seriously, though,” he added, losing his cheeky grin in favour of a familiar steadiness, “rough morning or not, he seems chipper enough now.”

 

“He's high,” Zechs said flatly. “He's been downstairs all day – he wouldn't rest until we heard from you. He's got enough drugs in him right now that I could stab him with something and he wouldn't feel it.”

 

Duo flashed him another wicked grin. “Well, there goes that fun,” he teased.

 

Milliardo shook his head, temper flaring again. “Pack it in,” he warned. “You're not funny with that on a good day, Duo, and today's not that.”

 

Duo looked at him, violet eyes sparking, for a moment more, then dropped the facade. “Sorry,” he murmured, looking suddenly weary to his bones. “Family trait,” he said, and Milliardo huffed before nodding, acknowledging that the cutting humour he'd been deploying as a distraction was a tendency he shared with his older brother, and one which the blond himself lacked entirely.

 

“I know,” Milliardo agreed. “I do know. I just.... not that. Please,” he added, and it was that which made Duo double-take at him, looking more closely.

 

“ _That_ bad a day, Mil?” he asked gently, dropping Maxwell-the-brat for someone far closer to the boy Milliardo had grown up with, the surrogate younger brother, not quite three years his junior, who'd been playmate and friend in ways even Treize, older and never quite a sibling, hadn't been.

 

The blond shrugged gracelessly. “That bad a topic,” he answered honestly. “We've been... disagreeing. Ask me some other time,” he added, when Duo looked like he was going to press. “I'll talk, particularly if you offer me whisky first. But we don't have time right now.”

 

“It's a date,” Duo said lightly. He shook himself a few moments later, and reached for the flyers again, shoving a handful into Zechs's hand. “Here. I'm starving.”

 

Zechs blinked at him, closing his fingers automatically, the hesitated. “Duo,” he started, and the younger man shook his head.

 

“No,” he said. “Sorry, Mil, but he could be chucking _now_ and I'd be handing him a bucket and telling him to suck it up. He's my brother, I love him, I'd do anything for him – but it's his turn. I need this from him now.”

 

“His _turn_?” Zechs spluttered. “Duo...!”

 

“What?” Duo snapped, and suddenly there was no doubt of his bloodline. “You'd do well to remember which one of us he sent away, Milliardo,” he said softly, and the weight of everything he wasn't saying was suddenly heavy in the air between them, never spoken of, the certain, bitter knowledge of choices Treize had made – had _had_ to make – which had divided Duo from his brothers for years, if not forever.

 

Duo didn't know which of them would have spoken next, but there was movement at the door to the study, and that stopped either of them from saying anything.

 

“Miri,” Treize said softly. “Enough. He's right.”

 

Zechs tensed, but his attitude to his former commander had never been one of automatic obedience, never mind intimidation. “Maybe,” he said, turning on one heel sharply. “Maybe not – but, today?” he asked.

 

Treize tilted his head. “Today, tomorrow. His choice.” He smiled suddenly, holding his hand out to his brother. “I owe him that.”

 

Duo slid past Zechs, taking Treize's hand and going to his knees to look at the man on the same level. “Todaa,” he said quietly, offering the simple phrase in Hebrew first, “thank you.”

 

Treize nodded, still smiling. “My Thai?” he asked curiously, and it was enough to make even Zechs laugh softly.

 

“It's coming, it's coming,” Duo reassured, pushing back to his feet with a gentle squeeze to once-broken fingers. “I'm just waiting for that lump to decide what he wants.”

 

Treize turned his gaze on the blond, not quite literally batting his eyelashes whilst certainly giving off that impression. “Hurry up, then,” he pushed winningly, and Duo laughed again as Zechs rolled his eyes, collecting his phone to call Quatre with their orders.

 


	3. Chapter 3

By the time the knock sounded on the front door almost an hour later, Duo had stripped, showered and redressed in the tailored trousers and expensive sweater which were his compromise with Treize on 'casual' versus 'scruffy' and brushed his hair back into a ponytail to match Zechs's, tying it off with a twist of velvet ribbon.

 

He was presenting himself as Dror Khushrenada, Romefeller-raised, privately-educated young noble man, just as he had this morning, and refusing to look too closely at why. It wasn't, after four years away from home, on the colonies, with the sweepers and as a pilot, truly who he was anymore, something even Treize and Mil acknowledged, addressing him as they did as 'Duo' almost exclusively.

 

It was true that here, with his two older brothers, he was closer to that boy than he had been for a long time, and that he did push the identification, actively seeking to reclaim his place with what was left of his family, even as he was aware that that family had no issue with who he was and what he called himself.

 

He wondered, though, at the sense of doing it tonight. He was throwing away something that could have made things easier. Accustomed to him as they were, the other pilots would have listened to Duo Maxwell with a certain amount of automatic acceptance. Asking to them to talk with Dror Khushrenada was only rubbing their noses in the lie he'd lived with them, and was bound to up the angst.

 

He knew well, too, that Treize would be calling him an idiot for it. He'd supported Duo in not reclaiming his birth identity instantly; he would have supported him in it now.

 

Then again, the older man was experienced at dealing with those closest to him having dual identities in a way which was almost freaky in its commonality. Mil, Anne, now his brother – Duo wondered if dealing with all the mixed up mess ever gave the man a headache, or if he processed that the way he did so many other things.

 

It gave Duo one.

 

Silently acknowledging that fact, he downed a couple of pills from the bottle in the bathroom he shared with Mil, noting that he wasn't the only one living off the things at the moment and wondering if that was part of Zechs's attitude issue this evening. The blond had always been prone to blinding migraines and they always made him touchy.

 

He padded down the back stairs as the door rattled in its frame, passing Treize and Zechs in the main sitting room as the blond helped the older man settle himself in his usual corner and pausing in the doorframe for a moment.

 

“Ready?” he asked, noting that both Zechs and Treize had changed as well , Zechs into an cool grey version of Duo's outfit that highlighted his eyes marvellously, and Treize into a fresh set of his usual soft flannel pants and crisp cotton shirt, his heavy blue-velvet smoking-coat tied tidily at his waist. With his feet in neat black ankle boots and his gloved hands gathered in his lap, he didn’t look a million miles away from how he had in any of the dozens of publicity shots that had been taken of him over the years.

 

The door rattled again and Duo took a deep breath before summoning a welcoming wide smile and throwing it open.

 

“Hello!” he said cheerily. “Oh, food!” he exclaimed, spotting all the bags the other pilots were carrying. “Gimme!”

 

It was the greeting they would be expecting – half-starved street-rat Maxwell jumping on any food that was offered – and he saw the familiarity wash through the four of them, breaking the uneasy tension.

 

“Thai, Maxwell? Heero asked, and his voice was laden with his disgust for any food that complex and overly spicy.

 

“Hey, yeah, not my idea,” Duo played off, chattering. “Hence, ya'know, also the pizzas and stuff. Mil won't eat it either, so you're in good company!”

 

“Mil?” Quatre asked, stepping into the house, glancing around curiously. Smiling, petite and blond, he looked as angelic as ever, but Duo had had fair experience with angelic blonde's years before he'd ever met Quatre and he wasn't fooled. He could see the swift assessments that were taking place in that formidable strategic brain.

 

“Me,” Zechs said, appearing from the sitting room, his voice a low, warm rumble. “Welcome to our home,” he added, giving the four pilots the traditional Sancian greeting. “Please, come in.”

 

Duo was immeasurably grateful for the backup. Wufei and Trowa were yet to speak to him – Trowa was yet to actually look at him – and even Heero was hesitating before crossing the threshold.

 

“Thank you for having us,” Quatre said in reply, far too well brought up to be rude, even under these circumstances. He flicked a warning look at the other pilots, and it was enough to make all three of them move, stepping into the porch and letting Duo close the door behind therm.

 

It was also enough to tell Duo that he might actually be on thinner ice than even he'd thought. It was looking very likely that Trowa, at least, and possibly Wufei as well, were only here to listen because Quatre had insisted. Heero, as ever, would have made his own decision, which wouldn't have allowed him to do anything other than gather any and all data that he could.

 

He chanced a glance at Zechs, saw the answering flash in his eyes that told him the older man had already caught it, and steeled himself further, moving to help as Zechs took coats and drinks orders and directed everyone to the sitting room, relying on his own upbringing to smooth over whatever unease he was feeling in favour of getting their evening off to the best start possible. Duo could only be grateful, particularly when Zechs moved towards the kitchen with their food rather than following Duo and his friends towards the lounge. It had to be killing him to risk leaving Treize alone in this company even for a moment, and even with Duo there.

 

It was little enough Duo could do in response to slip past Quatre and make sure that he was standing by his brother's side before the other pilots caught sight of him, although he was skilled enough to make it look casual, however much the hand on Treize's shoulder was protective.

 

As he had been into the house, Quatre was the first through the door to the sitting room, his face open with his polite smile as he oriented to the room with lightning fast precision, noted how and where the occupants were, and bowed gracefully.

 

“Shalom Aleikhem, Treize,” the little blond said fluidly. “Gut shabbes.”

 

Research, Duo wondered, or simply keen observation? Nothing on public record expressly stated his brother's religious leanings, and he knew Quatre well enough to know he wouldn't have assumed just from birth place and name, particularly with the knowledge he had of Duo's own Catholicism to draw on.

 

Regardless, he'd nailed it, pinning not just the overriding religion and the significance of the date and time, but also the cultural subset, and Duo felt the reaction to that wash through his brother under his hand.

 

“Wa `alayka s-salām , Quatre,” Treize replied softly, setting his right hand to his chest and returning the small bow as well as he could.

 

Quatre's smile warmed at the returned courtesy, letting Duo know that his brother had pitched it perfectly as well. It made him recall all the times he'd anticipated Quatre's behaviour by thinking of what his brother would do, of how much he'd always thought they were cut from the same cloth – statesmen and strategists, both, disguising frightening intellect and iron will behind slender bodies, bright eyes and polished presentation.

 

“Thank you for having us,” Quatre continued, “and I'm sorry for interrupting your evening with so little notice.”

 

Treize gave a small smile and a smaller shrug, the gesture tight and, Duo knew, probably painful. “It got me Thai,” he said easily, and Duo saw Quatre blink, subtle and rapid, at the informal phrasing.

 

How much would he deduce? Duo wondered. Had he already begun to parse out what had been guarded from the world for a year and a half, the reason Treize's continued survival had been a secret from all but three people even after the Barton rebellion? He was no more or less guilty than Zechs had been, after all, no more or less in danger, and the blond had seen fit to share his continued existence with Une, Noin, his sister and some few others, and with the world at large when needed.

 

If he'd begun to think, it didn't show. Instead, Quatre gave his wonderfully enthusiastic and friendly laugh and tipped his head. “Oh? I'd wondered who that was for! I know Milliardo is no fan, and I've never seen Duo choose anything so spicy. I think he thought I was trying to poison him the first time I tried to feed him,” he confided.

 

Treize matched the head-tilt, his hands dropping to be loose and open in his lap again. “Oh, probably,” he agreed. “Much as I tried,” he added, and his voice was a study in rueful long-suffering. “You like it?” he asked.

 

Kinesics, Duo noted, the training Treize himself had given him supplying the data. Posture-matching, open body language, a subtle widening of his eyes to indicate interest and attention. It possibly wasn't deliberate, but it wouldn't be hurting. And given the limitations Treize had with vocal communication, possibly it would be vital.

 

Quatre nodded, the movement soft. “More than I like Pizza,” he agreed. “It's closer to what I was raised on, if not entirely right. Wufei will probably agree with me,” he offered, turning to look at the oriental pilot invitingly.

 

Oh, clever, Duo applauded silently. Wufei had no choice but to respond now, if he weren't to look stunningly rude – and he wouldn't do that. He might be from a wildly different background again to either Quatre or Treize, but he was the third blue-blooded 'eldest son' in the room and raised with just as much attention to care and courtesy.

 

As anticipated, Wufei stepped into the room properly at Quatre's question and blinked before joining the conversation. “Closer for me, than for you, I think, Winner,” he said, his voice slightly accent-touched and rolling, surprisingly deep and firm, as always.

 

Treize shifted his gaze to the oriental man, and only the hand on his shoulder let Duo feel the absolute rigidity that suddenly flooded Treize's body.

 

What the hell? Duo thought, tightening his hand reflexively and summoning a cheeky grin at the same time, hoping to cover the reaction. “Eh,” he said broadly, vamping with the ease of long practice. “I can't tell the bloody difference. It's all rice-an'-spice,” he quipped dismissively, and if it was sweeper-slang and delivered in the most L2-accent he could, that was only intentional.

 

He waited for Treize to haul him over the coals for both the accent and the insult, and couldn't help but glance down when it didn't come.

 

Treize was still gazing rigidly at Wufei, and Duo couldn't help the impulse that saw him sliding his weight forward. It hopefully wouldn't be obvious – he could live without having to try to explain – but he was subtly moving to put Treize behind him in relation to Wufei, sure as hell now that something about the other pilot was freaking him out.

 

Of course, he should have known better than to think he'd get away with it, given who he was in a room with. Flashing glances from all four pilots told him they'd made both Treize's reaction and his attempt to cover it, and none of them looked happy with either. It left Duo nowhere to go but to level their looks straight back and lift his chin, because he'd gone into this evening hoping not to have to choose between friends and family at all, but if it came to it, and this soon, then the choice was already made. It was better that they learned that now.

 

“Duo....” Quatre started, his eyes tight with worry and his particularly effective brand of disappointment, “you....?” he asked, and stopped when Wufei shook his head.

 

“Have I mentioned,” Wufei said abruptly, talking over the blond, “that I've been teaching Mariemeia Mandarin? She has a genuine talent for languages,” he explained, “and I confess, it is nice to return to my original interests.”

 

Duo looked up at him, wondering what he was on about. Was this _really_ the moment to introduce the fact that Wufei had far more to do with Treize's daughter than Treize himself did, who had yet to actually meet her in person?

 

Wufei looked back steadily for a moment, indicating that he was aware of the issues, then glanced at Treize, indicating that he was aware of that issue as well, before returning to Duo. “Is linguistics a family talent?” he asked easily. “I've never heard you speak anything other than Standard?”

 

Duo gave him a swift, wide-eyed look as understanding dawned, acknowledging the fact that Wufei was trying to draw Treize out of whatever was gripping him with banter and hoping his gratitude showed. The other pilot owed neither of them that much consideration. “I could say the same, Wuffers,” he returned readily, “and about all of you apart from Kitty-Quat.”

 

Wufei nodded, his depth-less, pinning gaze testament to how little he was liking the position he was in. “Sorry?” he asked.

 

“Standard's standard for a reason,” Duo continued, running with the opening. “What else were we gonna use? I don't speak Mandarin or Arabic, my Japanese gets to 'hello' and 'which way is the shuttle?' and screeches to a stop, and it would have looked seriously suss for an L2 street-rat to speak fluent French. Of course you never heard anything else from me, “ he finished lightly, hoping it would be enough.

 

There was a moment of silence, which Duo used to turn back to his brother, hoping there was nothing more serious going on than a recurrence of a lifelong glitch in his brother and not looking forward to confessing to Zechs that they'd broken him already. Treize 'dropped out' on them fairly regularly and always had, the breath-taking speed of his mind overclocking his brain and leaving him non-responsive while he rebooted, but it was always a sign of stress, and Duo knew Zechs wouldn't take it well given that he was already hoppy about Treize's current condition.

 

“...You speak French...?”

 

The voice was Trowa's, soft and disbelieving and layered with so many shades of emotion that nothing really bled through.

 

Duo winced, but forced himself to turn, making himself look to the bright side in that at least Trowa had spoken to him. He'd always known that the L3 pilot was going to take his deception the worst – simply because his was genuinely the background closest to the one that Duo had fabricated. With Duo revealed as a fraud, Trowa really was the only pilot without a real pedigree for his role, and that had to hurt.

 

“Eh, yeah,” he said softly. “I'm sorry, Tro,” he offered honestly. “I wish....”

 

Trowa cut him off with a sharp head-shake, the expression in his green eyes warning Duo that nothing he could say next would be wise. “I don't,” he said quietly, “want to hear it. I'm here for Quatre. Nothing else.” He shrugged. “I'm going to go see what's keeping Marquise,” he said shortly, and turned on his heel, vanishing from the room.

 

If he'd been anyone else, Duo might have wondered how he thought he was going to find his way round an unfamiliar house. As it was, he simply watched him go, saddened.

 

“He's pissed at me, huh?” he asked Quatre, when Trowa was probably beyond ear-shot.

 

Wufei answered him; Quatre was staring after Trowa, clearly hesitating over following him. “Maxwell, we all are. Here,” he offered, unholstering the Preventer sidearm he was carrying and handing it grip first to Quatre, making Duo register that whilst Heero had gotten changed, and Trowa, and Quatre, Wufei was still wearing his full Dress, complete with pistol. “Take this,” he said to the blond. “Khushrenada has no history with you.”

 

Quatre nodded slowly, sliding the gun into the back of his waistband without looking at either it or where he was putting it. His eyes were still tight at the corners as he looked between Treize, Duo and Wufei warily. “Alright. Wufei?” he asked, and he was clearly asking for an explanation for whatever Wufei had divined that he had missed.

 

Duo wouldn't have minded it, either, although he had some notion, but neither of them got it. The oriental man shook his head, opening his hands at his sides. “Linguistics,” he sad flatly. “A family talent or not?” he pressed.

 

Duo blinked his appreciation and began tapping his fingers against his brother's shoulder in an ascending prime number pattern, keeping the gesture as small as he could. The pattern might help Treize to focus, but it would give away one of two major weaknesses his brother had if it was spotted. Heero, at least, would understand, too easily.

 

“Not for me,” he said, as levelly as he could manage. “I speak a few languages, sure, but nothing esoteric, considering. Tro's still got me beat.” He shrugged. “If Marie's inherited that skill, it's from Elizavet's blood.”

 

“Elizavet?” Quatre asked, and his face scrunched as he tried to work it out – Duo could practically see him trying to make the Family Tree hang right.

 

“...my mother,” Treize said softly, blinking as he focussed suddenly and sharply on his brother, then looked at the blond pilot. “A diplomat. Todaa, Dror,” he added quietly, dropping into his first tongue without thought.

 

Duo grinned at him brightly. “You'll master your brain at some point, big brother,” he tweaked, and was delighted when just the very faintest touch of colour stained Treize's milk-pale skin.

 

Quatre nodded. “You share a father,” he commented, “but not a mother. I'd forgotten.”

 

“Forgotten?” Treize questioned. “Did you know?” he asked, and his voice was sharp, a normal volume, his eyes and his body closing with sudden suspicion.

 

Duo watched as Quatre and Wufei exchanged glances, Wufei open and curious, Quatre looking apologetic. “Only since this afternoon, although your respective beliefs give some strong hint that way,” Quatre explained. “For you to have completely the same parentage, one of you would have had to abandon a family religion for a completely new one.”

 

Duo tilted his head, pushing away from Treize to wave his guests to seats on the couch, watching as the three pilots settled in a line, Quatre nearest to Treize and Wufei furthest away.

 

“Oh? We could have had parents of different faiths and each picked one?” he suggested, knowing he was going to get into trouble for it.

 

And he did. Immediately, three of the four people in the room with him made some gesture that told him they knew too much for that story to fly. Treize rolled his eyes and murmured, “Leviticus, Duo,” Wufei shook his head knowingly and Quatre merely smiled sweetly.

 

“I am, of course, presuming you are actually the Jewish Orthodox you appear, Treize?” the blond checked lightly.

 

To Duo's surprise, Treize actually managed a genuine smile. “Of a sort,” he agreed.

 

Which was Duo's cue to give it up and grin. “Alright, yes, Leviticus, Treize,” he chuckled, knowing exactly what his brother was referring to. “And Deuteronomy, and Ezra,” he added, demonstrating a knowledge of fair depth.

 

“Hn?” Heero asked, from the spot he'd taken in the middle of the couch. “Explain?” he pushed.

 

Quatre turned to face him, willing to do just that, his face light and fond. “There's a Mezuzah by the door, Heero, a blessed scroll. It told me as soon as I saw it that someone in the house is a follower of Judaism,” he explained.

 

Duo let his smile soften – so that was how he'd done it. Full marks for observation to Mr Winner, then!

 

Quatre caught his smile, and returned it. “Given that I know Duo is Catholic, “ he continued, “and that I've seen Zechs eat lasagne once too often to think he even tries to keep Kosher, it had to be Treize.” He shrugged gently. “And whilst it's possible to follow Judaism and not actually, technically, be Jewish, of course, it's a matter of public record that he was born in Tel Aviv.” He shrugged again. “Statistics don't always lie,” he remarked, turning his smile to Treize. “A practising Judaic Israeli was fairly certain to also be Jewish. And, as I said, I know, for a number of reasons, that Duo is not, hence, different mothers,” he finished.

 

Heero was still scowling. “Still explain,” he insisted.

 

“Jewish identity comes from the mother, Hee-man,” Duo replied, plugging the gap Quatre had left. “If the mother is, then the child is, simple as. If the mother is not, the child isn't held to be either. Treize is, because his mother was, and I'm not, so my mom couldn't have been. Easy conclusion for Quat to say they couldn't have been the same woman.”

 

Heero scowled, then shrugged. “Alright,” he agreed, and it was clear that he thought the whole thing ridiculous.

 

Quatre shook his head, then looked at Duo. “Why are you Catholic, anyway?” he asked. “You may not be Jewish by blood, but the household must have kept a degree of Judaism for Treize to practice. The age gap isn't big enough for it only to have been his mother's influence?” he quizzed.

 

Duo immediately tensed, cursing Quatre for being so sharp, because he was, of course, completely correct. Treize had been barely four when his mother had died.

 

“It wasn't,” he admitted, flashing a look at the older man. “Our father was Orthodox, too, but Zechs wasn't, by any stretch and my mother's family were Catholic. I was mostly indifferent until I met them,” he said tightly. “Watching them stand between the orphans they've devoted their life to and an Alliance sweep team, and save some of them, focuses the mind on the merits of faith.”

 

Quatre's eyes went wide, horrified sympathy flushing in them as he understood.

 

Heero, sat next him, and Wufei, weren't so quick. “Sorry?” Wufei asked.

 

“Not everything I told you was fiction, Wufei,” Duo said flatly. “In fact, almost none of it was. I've still never, actually, lied to any of you. When I told you that I was at the Maxwell Church Massacre, I was only being completely honest, because I _was_ there,” he finished.

 

Wufei scowled. “But, your name?” he asked. “Your background? You were hardly a street-rat orphan who took the name of the priest who saved him, Duo! And that's what you told us!”

 

Duo shook his head slowly. “I told you I began using the name of the priest who saved the orphans – and I did. I told you I was there – and I was. I just wasn't one of those orphans, and the name was mine to claim anyway.”

 

He swallowed hard, but held the other pilot's gaze. “Father Andrew Maxwell was my uncle, my mother's only brother,” he said softly. “He threw his half of the family fortune into building his church and orphanage, and when his message started gathering sympathy, when he started making the news here on Earth through his family connections, the Alliance set him up, staged a 'rebel' attack and had him killed and his church burned.” He swallowed again. “And they'd have got away with it – except his nephew saw it happen. I wasn't one of the orphans, Wufei, I was part of the response force.”

 

Wufei's jaw literally dropped. “My God,” he said softly. “Duo.”

 

There was silence for a moment, then, as Zechs reappeared in the door with their food, he blinked, looked between Treize and Duo and swallowed. “How.... How did that fit with your plans?” he asked carefully.

 

Treize caught Duo's hand with his, and gazed at the pilots levelly, His Excellency in full measure for the space of a minute. “It didn't,” he said quietly. “It started them.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

They ate in silence, the quiet only broken by the soft opening recitation of various prayers, and then the occasional request to pass some item or another.

 

Zechs, perhaps with Trowa's help, had split their meals perfectly, accommodating personal choice and religious restriction without comment and without fuss and they ate, then settled back as Duo cleared the plates and refreshed drinks, knowing that the conversation which followed would be what they had come for.

 

Duo waited until Zechs had helped Treize resettle in his corner, watching his fellow pilots' reaction to his brothers more than he was watching them. He didn't need to look to see the solicitous touches and affectionate expressions, nor listen to hear the murmur of reassurance and appreciation – they were the foundations of his childhood, present long before Zechs and Treize had ever begun sleeping with each other.

 

He realised, as he watched, that none of the other Gundam pilots had known until now just what the relationship between the two Oz aces exactly was. He wondered how they were taking it – and how they would deal with it when the whole tale came out, because one thing was sure from this evening – none of them were going to be left with very many secrets.

 

“Maxwell Church?” Wufei prompted, when they were all staring at one another again. “That was the start?”

 

Duo exchanged glances with Zechs, having filled him in whilst they were clearing away and visiting the facilities. “Yes,” Duo agreed, readily if not easily.

 

Zechs scowled. “No,” he said, just as quickly.

 

There was a moment of stillness, then Wufei leaned forward. “No? You said....”

 

Duo held up a hand to stop him. “No, Mil?” he asked steadily. “Tre?” he checked, because it had been Treize's words earlier, not his.

 

Treize was leaning against the back of his chair, but his eyes jumped from his brother to his cousin, and then he nodded. “Yes, and no,” he said softly. “For you, yes,” he said to Duo. “But....” He stopped, gestured lightly, then tipped his head to Zechs. “Miri?”

 

Zechs held Treize's gaze, then looked back to the room in general. “I want it clear,” he started, “that I am not promising to get through all of this in one night. I need Treize here for this, but I will not exhaust him.”

 

Duo gave him raised eyebrows, wondering how annoyed to be. It was, almost precisely, what he had told Zechs they weren't doing before the other pilots arrived, and yet, looking at his brother, he knew why Zechs was saying it. As a group, the pilots were known for nothing more than tenacity, and once they got a bit between their teeth they did not let go – Duo doubted that they would care whether they were exhausting a former enemy right up to the point Treize actually collapsed.

 

Immediately, Wufei and Trowa looked like they were going to protest, but Quatre stood them down with another warning look. “Absolutely,” he agreed, and there was no hesitation in his response at all.

 

Duo smiled, as did Zechs, mollified that at least one of them seemed to taking him seriously.

 

“Alright, then,” the blond said. “To start with, you need to understand the following: The seeds of discord for us were sown at the same time as they were for you – with the assassination of Heero Yuy.”

 

Duo bit his lip as open disbelief flashed from Wufei and Quatre, knowing that the sudden shadows in Heero and Trowa's eyes meant they doubted just as much. That was a dramatic opening statement – perhaps too dramatic.

 

“Unlikely, Marquise,” Trowa said. “I'm not here to listen to fairy stories,” he warned.

 

“And I'm not telling you any,” Zechs countered. “Neither your own Operation Meteor, nor our Daybreak, were plans dreamed up overnight. They'd been decades in the works, from before I or any of you were born, and the impetus for both came from the Alliance's removal of Councillor Yuy. Or were you still thinking that it was co-incidence that the Specials were in place to take out the Alliance Command just as you all landed on Earth?” he asked shortly.

 

Duo watched Quatre blink, his face blanking as he processed. Wufei looked scandalised; Trowa not much less so. Heero looked thoughtful.

 

“Honestly,” Quatre said eventually, “I think we assumed you took advantage of the distraction.”

 

Treize laughed softly. “I'm good,” he said. “Not that good. 2 months?” he asked, and even his limited speech showed clear mockery in that question. “Daybreak took 5 years. Meteor matched us!” he insisted.

 

“I'm not interested in revisionist history, either,” Trowa bit off. “I didn't come here to hear you tell stories about how you were fighting for the rights of the colonies really, either, Khushrenada, because no Earther has ever done that. I just want the justification for Duo infiltrating us and lying to us for two years, so I can decide it's not good enough, and walk out with a clear conscience when I never speak to him again. I don't give a fuck about the rest!”

 

“Trowa!” Quatre gasped, and he had obviously been caught out by the other pilot's vehemence. “We agreed to hear this out before judging!” he insisted.

 

Trowa shook his head. “You agreed to that. I didn't. I have all the answers I will ever need. If he can fool me for this long, then I'll never trust him and I don't make friends with people I can't trust. I learnt that lesson too much, too soon,” he said, and his eyes were shadowed, his body tight.

 

Duo winced, because he knew the story behind that. There was another 'friend' in Trowa's past, one who'd lied about her origins and her intentions, and ended by destroying everything Trowa had called family at that point, using Trowa in no small measure to do it. The parallels had to be stinging.

 

Duo nodded his understanding slowly, and Treize merely tipped his head curiously. It was possible he knew something of it, Duo realised, given that Trowa's 'Middi' had been Cousin Mide to Treize's Anne, part of the sprawling Irish Une Clan.

 

Zechs, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes and growled softly. “If I can do you the courtesy of explaining, you can return it sufficiently to listen without accusation,” he warned coldly, and his tone was Prince as much as Colonel and nothing anyone would want to cross. “Otherwise, get out.”

 

To Duo's never-ending and substantial surprise, Trowa merely offered his brother a wicked, shadow-eyed grin. “Yeah, that's not going to work on me right now, Marquise,” he said softly. “I'm in no mood to play.”

 

The blond blanched, Duo blinked and Treize snapped his head round to look at his former lover so fast that he'd have given it all away to Duo even if he hadn't already put two and two together and got sixty-nine.

 

“Miri...?” he asked softly, and there was something in his voice that shouldn’t have been there in the company they were in.

 

Zechs met his gaze steadily, then caught his hand carefully, because he was on the redhead's more damaged side, and it paid to be careful with any touch. “Barclay,” he said, voice little more than a whisper. “Once, and not since.”

 

Treize nodded immediately, then smiled, and Duo saw his eyes leave Zechs's to look at first Trowa and then Quatre. “Interesting,” he murmured.

 

It took Duo a moment longer, but the tactical brain was something they shared as brothers and he got there in the end. Interesting, indeed, he agreed.

 

Wufei chose that moment to interrupt the byplay. “Care to enlighten the rest of us?” he demanded curtly.

 

Zechs merely tipped his head to one side and smiled. “Barton?” he offered. “Would you?”

 

And that would teach the other pilots not to fence with the Lightning Count, Duo thought. Trowa had been snidely trying to score points, hoping to imply with his little dig that there was something between him and the older blond. Duo could give him credit for having divined the level of the relationship between his two brothers properly – he'd have to have, to think that might work – but he'd incriminated himself in the process.

 

And probably Quatre, as well, Duo realised. If Trowa could 'play' with Zechs, then he had some of the same submissive traits that were Treize's second major secret, which meant that his relationship with Quatre was touched by them, which meant that sweet, little, innocent Kitty-Quat was probably a dab hand with a crop by now. No wonder he'd seemed to suddenly come into himself as a commander towards the end of the war. Talk about motivation to develop a command persona!

 

“As I was saying,” Zechs cut in smoothly, when it became obvious that Quatre was glaring Trowa into silence, “Our own motivation stems from the same place as yours – the Assassination of Councillor Yuy. Treize's family had vested interest in seeing that avenged,” he explained lightly. “The decimation of Sanc only added fuel to the fire, and set in stone that something was going to be done. The Khushrenada's were bad people to start a blood feud with, in that respect, and with that the Alliance had, twice.”

 

There was a moment of silence around the room, the only sound the snap of the fire Zechs had lit earlier in the evening and the shuffle of clothes against couch cushions as people fidgeted uneasily.

 

“Blood feud?” Heero asked eventually, perhaps deciding that no-one else was going to. “You've lost me, Marquise,” he added.

 

Zechs smiled a little, but it was not warm. “Peacecraft, Yuy,” he corrected quietly. “Marquise was a title, not a name, and it's about to matter that we get the names absolutely right.” He flicked a glance around the room. “Did none of you do any research during the war?” he asked, and the puzzlement was obvious in his face.

 

Duo watched as his fellow pilots exchanged speaking looks, already knowing that they hadn't much.

 

“We operated on the instructions we were given,” Heero explained tautly, as though that covered it.

 

It didn't.

 

“Blindly?” Treize asked, and his voice might have been soft, but the question wasn't.

 

Duo knew his brothers both had a great deal of respect for the other pilots but they would lose that now, if the answer to the question wasn't the right one, and that might just see them walking away from this explanation altogether. Certainly, Treize, who had no experience of any of them beyond tonight, wouldn't waste his time on anyone he thought was simply obeying orders. As much time as he'd always had for his own troops, neither had he ever felt he owed them anything beyond the best and most effective command he could offer them.

 

“No, not blindly,” Wufei replied. “I, certainly, did enough to know who and what you were, to get me from your name to your command ship.” He shrugged, dismissing the reminders of his assassination attempts on the older man as though they were nothing. “I wasn't much interested in your ancestors, Khushrenada, save in the sense of sending you to meet them.”

 

Treize flinched, Zechs growled softly, and Duo had to bite down a smile. Wufei's sense of humour took serious getting used to, but once you did.... He hadn't ever thought to meet anyone drier than his beloved elder brother, but Chang on a good day made Treize look like the Atlantic Ocean in comparison, especially combined with that inscrutable poker face.

 

Still, this wasn't the moment. “What about you, Quat?” he chipped in, pushing past the comment with blithe disregard. The little blond had been the best-resourced of them, and the one most likely to have needed and done the footwork.

 

Quatre spread his hands in a gesture of negation. “I accessed what I could on Treize, of course, and on Zechs. And then, later, on Milliardo. But the records were often sealed and incomplete and I never needed to go back from any of you.” He shot Duo a look that was, for the first time, a little cold. “Perhaps I should have. My looking today tells me you'd have had a harder time, if any of us had gone back beyond more than a couple of years.”

 

He pointed at something over Duo's shoulder with a small, tight smile. “Case in point, which way round are those?” he asked. “I can't tell.”

 

Duo twisted where he was sitting, natural flexibility letting him look at the wall almost directly behind him, and he craned his neck to realise he was looking at one of the photo groups Zechs had arranged.

 

[Side-by-side in a triple-fold frame were portrait shots of three boys](http://www.photobox.co.uk/my/photo/full?photo_id=2471602762), their black-and-white print suggesting they'd been taken for records purposes. All three wore the ornate Specials Officer uniform, all three were early-teens and all three were had steady, certain expressions.

 

The boy in the middle was unmistakeably Zechs, untidy white-blond hair and sunglasses betraying his identity on first glance. The two on either side were a puzzle, because they were very similar looking boy's, photographic differences allowed for.

 

Duo felt his mouth twitch into a smirk and he stood and retrieved the photo-frame. “Huh, yeah, I guess. I cut my hair on Academy entry, and only started growing it again in my second year. Wad'da'ya think, big brother?” he teased, settling himself onto the arm of Treize's chair lightly and offering over the frame.

 

Treize took it from him carefully, then looked up and smiled, letting the warmth in his gaze be his answer. “Chubby,” he said softly, and Duo spluttered.

 

Zechs leaned across the both of them. “He's right,” he said, his gaze unrepentant. “You're definitely, ah, rounder. It's mostly in the face, but it's there.” He grinned. “Still is,” he tweaked.

 

Duo switched his outraged look to the blond, then shook his head and wrinkled his nose. “Ah, screw the both of you!” He pushed to his feet again, then leaned back and pulled down another photo that had been resting on top of the bureau, one Treize had chosen this time.

 

He took both in his hands and dumped them into Quatre's lap. “Tre, Mil, me,” he said, tapping left to right across the triptych. “Corps entry pictures from our service jackets. We were, what, here - Fourteen?”

 

“I was,” Treize agreed softly.

 

“You and I were thirteen,” Zechs added. “They'd dropped the entry age to ten by the time we joined Victoria.”

 

Quatre followed his finger, studying closely. “It's an incredibly strong resemblance,” he commented. “I never would have thought Khushrenada looked like this as a teen. I can't swear I wouldn't say he was you.”

 

“Neither can I,” Wufei chimed in, having moved to lean over Quatre's shoulder across the back of the couch. “Winner is right – if any of us had dug deeper, you'd have been in trouble.”

 

Duo shrugged. “Nah. You wouldn't have seen it, because you wouldn't have been looking for it, and besides, it'd be much less obvious if these were in colour. Ginger-snap over there has his Mama's hair and pretty blue eyes . I look like my Mom.”

 

He waited until he'd heard Treize's soft cough of protest at the old nick-name, then tapped the other frame. “This picture, on the other hand, _would_ have landed me in all end of hot water if any of you'd found it,” he said.

 

He followed Wufei's gaze down to the dark wooden frame, and rested a fingertip on the polished glass, gesturing at two rows of people, the four at the front seated and the four behind standing, slightly off set.

 

“That's me,” he said, tapping a boy in the same uniform as before, sitting front and dead centre of the group, “Mil, obviously,” with a gesture to a young-looking, red-clad Zechs, standing second in on the back row. “Tre,” and his point was to a now-recognisable Treize, who looked right on the cusp of true adulthood, comfortable in his famous blue and white as he stood behind Duo with one hand on his shoulder and his arm brushing lightly against Zechs's.

 

He moved then to the rest of the individuals in the shot. “This was my graduation. That's Dorothy,” he offered, tapping the blonde girl sitting next to him and in front of Zechs. “Her mother, Lady Danielle,” he added, touching a blonde woman, sitting next to her daughter, “and her father, General Catalonia, standing behind Lady Danielle.”

 

His finger moved to the other end of the photo, resting on the truly lovely woman sitting next to him in the picture, her identity obvious from the resemblance. “My mother, Anna Maxwell, and our Father, Eban Khushrenada,” he finished, tapping the last individual, a sharp-faced man with silvery hair and distinctive eyebrows.

 

He looked up as he finished speaking, making eye contact with his brothers as he waited for the inevitable questions.

 

“Your graduation?” Heero asked, having stood up like Wufei, to lean over Quatre's other shoulder. “From where?”

 

Duo gave him a surprised look, because he'd thought that was obvious by now, and that really hadn't been the question he'd been expecting. “Lake Victoria,” he said, hesitating as Heero and Trowa both looked at him sharply.

 

“You were Oz?” Quatre questioned softly, looking up at him with liquid eyes.

 

Duo had rather thought that had gone without saying by this point, but apparently not. “And Romefeller,” he admitted, figuring he might as well get it out of the way, “albeit only both for a few weeks. Where did you think I learned to pilot?” he wondered, because he really was curious. “You were taught by the Maguanacs, Hee-man by Odin Lowe, Trow by the mercenaries and Wufei by Master Long. I know I said the Sweepers taught me, and they did, a lot, but when was the last time you saw a Sweeper in a combat mech?”

 

“That explains a lot,” Heero mused, and Duo was reminded of his offhand comment from a few months earlier, the heavy implication that he thought Duo the strongest pilot of their group.

 

It was unlikely to be true. Heero had been able to hold his own against Milliardo, several times, and whilst Duo had been a match for Treize by the time he'd left Victoria, he'd never been able to stand against their cousin, anymore than the older man had. From that, logic said that Heero was the better pilot, and it was a toss-up between him and Wufei for who was next, with Trowa somewhere in there unknown.

 

Quatre was definitely the weakest – although, in this company, that was a relative term – but his real value hadn't been as an individual pilot in any case.

 

He might have run with it, but Trowa picked that moment to stand up in a fluid stretch and cross the room on silent feet. “Marquise, is this you?” he asked quietly, and he'd collected another photoframe from the far corner.

 

Zechs looked up, tipping his head to see. “Yes,” he agreed, when he'd caught sight of the picture. “Noin took it during my first year at the Academy. Why?”

 

Trowa brought the photo back to the group and set in down in the middle of the triptych. It overlapped the edges of the other frame, covering the middle image of Zechs altogether and touching those of Duo and Treize. “Look at that,” he said to Quatre. “If you changed their colouring...” he suggested, and Duo flicked a look at his brother and cousin as the other pilots followed Trowa's instructions, and then turned laser gazes on the Prince.

 

“The cover story for Zechs Marquise,” Wufei said eventually. “That he was a Khushrenada cousin, orphaned young and taken in... it wasn't a story, was it?” He tilted his head. “I confess, I'd wondered at the connection between you and Khushrenada, and I never could make sense of how you'd have been in position to join Oz in the first place.”

 

Treize smiled at Wufei, apparently over whatever fit he'd been having earlier and seemingly pleased by the deductive leap. “Not a story,” he agreed.

 

Duo found himself smiling as Treize reached up and caught Zechs's hand with his, tugging the taller man closer. It wasn't often that Treize was that demonstrative in front of other people, a lifetime of having to bury every possible trait that could be used against him often telling in his private behaviour as well as the public.

 

“Blood feud,” Quatre acknowledged, nodding to himself. “That makes a little more sense. Can I ask.... how?”

 

Milliardo offered the other blond a small smile. “Treize and Duo's father was my Uncle. My mother's elder brother.” He shrugged. “Lady Danielle was their sister. Dorothy and I are first cousins to each other and to Treize and Duo.”

 

“Dorothy?” Quatre spluttered, his eyes widening

 

“Does Relena know?” Heero asked at the same moment.

 

Duo had to laugh. “Yes, and No – unless you told her, Mil?” he asked the older blond impishly.

 

Zechs shook his head. “Not yet. I will, one day, when there's a need, but that arse Darlian had her listening to all sorts of rhetoric and it's left her hostile to even the idea of the Romefeller families. I'm not sure how well she'll take to learning the whole story.”

 

“Badly,” Heero said, unvarnished truth, as always. “She'll have no issue with Duo or Dorothy, most likely. But Khushrenada.... she'll take that badly.”

 

Zechs shrugged, not hearing anything he hadn't been expecting. “She'll have to know someday. Especially if she wants to have children.”

 

He left that comment where it sat, ignoring the puzzled looks it caused, and stood up, rummaging in the bureau until he reappeared with pen and paper.

 

 


End file.
